


Baby Blues

by mother_hearted



Category: Silent Hill
Genre: Gen, disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_hearted/pseuds/mother_hearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the most human thing he has found lurking in this dungeon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Blues

The water prison is by far the worst world he’s been dropped into. Damp, dark, and the stains on the walls, floors, cells surround him, make him queasy and he still hasn’t had any luck getting that man out of the cell. And as before, in this new world comes a new threat, hulking and draped in black, it’s different from the sniffers and bats and growths that sprout up from the cracks in the floor.

It has a _face_.

Eyes and a nose and a mouth and another face right next to it. It, they, _it_ peers at him before charging, knocking him down with startling strength, hard enough that he can feel bruises forming on his ribs. He doesn’t have time to be stunned, water on the floor already soaking through the backs of his shirts, chilling and piercing.

On his feet he runs back, gets some distance between them. It’s strong, stronger than what he’s used to but there is still so much left of this place to explore, he needs this area monster free and empty. He has to kill it, no matter the eyes that watch him, the nose that turns up, or mouth with lips that quiver together tightly.

He charges forward fast, pipe hitting it hard and at the look of pure, uninhibited _pain_ on its face Henry’s heart freezes. It’s inhuman, a monster with two faces, gray decaying skin; but it’s the most human thing he has found lurking in this dungeon and it makes him sick. It moves to swipe at him and he hits it again and again and again. Fingers numb, he can hardly feel the metal against his skin, the cold prison air making his throat dry. It hasn’t gone down yet and he keeps hitting it, again and again and again.

Each swing takes him closer, closer, closer until the pipe is braced over his head for one final swing, its cries right in his ears and suddenly his arms lock over him.

 _wah wah_

It’s crying.

 _wah wah_

Crying just like a--

(he doesn’t let himself finish the thought)

He drives the pipe down, teeth gritting at the tiny tremors that race through his arms when he connects with its face.

 _wah wah_

Shaken, it begins to fall back. Eyes glassy and nostrils wide, little baby cheeks puffed out, red dribbling down its lips.

 _wah wah_

It collapses on the floor with a thud, laying in a puddle of blood.

He can never be a father after this.


End file.
